


Logical

by Decepticonsensual



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-11
Updated: 2013-11-11
Packaged: 2018-01-01 05:15:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1040774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Decepticonsensual/pseuds/Decepticonsensual
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A brief interlude with Ratchet and Shockwave during Ratchet's defection in Season 3.  Science rules!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Logical

“But… this is astonishing.”  Ratchet managed to tear his gaze away from the scrolling lines of data long enough to give their creator an awestruck look, then hungrily dove back in.  Each line, each equation made his spark pound faster.  “The leaps you made regarding climatic adjustment alone, and – wait, an evolutionary link through _Insecticons_?  And… _is that what I think it is_?”

“A potential method for isolating the CNA sequence for the development of the t-cog,” Shockwave replied, drawing close behind him to point over Ratchet’s shoulder.  “An examination of Predaking’s gestation and functions provided the necessary data.  Currently theoretical, but it would allow for the creation of lab-grown replacement t-cogs, individually tailored using the recipient’s CNA.  The risk of rejection would drop to a mere 0.08%.”

Ratchet rocked back on his heels to take in the entire screen, then stumbled and righted himself quickly when he accidentally connected with Shockwave’s chest.  He would have expected the Decepticon’s plating to be cold, but it was unusually warm to the touch, with the steady, lulling heat of ancient machinery.  “Apologies.”

“Unnecessary.”

“As I was saying, Shockwave, you have more information here about predacons from the study of a single clone than all the paleontologists on Cybertron _ever_ managed to gather!”

“Their resistance to practical experimentation was always illogical.”  Shockwave was still standing close, so close that the vibrations of his voice sent a tingle down Ratchet’s backstrut.  “A relic of a stagnant caste system, and the artificial divisions it created between the sciences.”

Ratchet felt like he _should_ object to that – it was straight out of Megatron’s old propaganda broadcasts, for a start – but he remembered his own frustration with the way the caste system hobbled medical research by imposing strict regulations and hierarchies about who could study what.  “It seems like a lot of these observations were taken here on Earth, though.  Weren’t you two together on Cybertron for a lot longer?”

“Indeed.  However, Predaking’s development has accelerated dramatically since his exposure to other Cybertronians, and to the sights and sounds of a living planet.”

Ratchet tapped the screen.  “I’m willing to bet, from the timing of these brainwave spikes, that it was exposure to other _fliers_ that did it.  I used to see that with patients – flyers raised by grounders, even if they had free rein to fly, learned more slowly and had less energy than their peers.  They _needed_ to spend time with a flying wing, even if it was just to watch.  I once saw an adopted Seekerlet go from a miserable little ball to a bright, bouncing child after I recommended that his parents take him to the Royal Air Command Exhibition in Vos...”  Realising that he was slipping into the kind of medical lecture that tended to put his fellow Autobots into recharge, he stopped and glanced back.  But while Shockwave’s mood was always difficult to read, his smouldering optic and pricked antennae looked anything but bored.

“That is logical.  Without the stimulation, the… _company_ of like-minded others, the processor can atrophy.”  Ratchet nodded readily.  He thought with a pang of the other Autobots.  Good, smart kids, every one of them, but so young, and none of them were trained scientists.  Raf probably came the closest, bless his spark (no, not spark – that fuel-pump analogue – _heart_ , that was it), but Ratchet had forgotten more about science and medicine than Raf’s entire species had ever known.  Even Optimus didn’t really understand what Ratchet did; he would just pat the medic’s shoulder and tell him he trusted him to make everything all right.  It was easy to feel disconnected when there was no one around who thought the way you did…

Ratchet’s gaze drifted thoughtfully from Shockwave’s optic to his single hand, resting on the console.

He couldn’t say exactly why he did it, but he stretched his own hand out, hesitantly at first, and covered Shockwave’s.  He could feel the Decepticon tense behind him, vents suddenly thrumming louder, but Shockwave did not pull away.  Ratchet began to move his forefinger in soothing circles against the joint of Shockwave’s thumb.  Primus, but the metal was tight, the wires stiff and worn down almost to the copper over long eons of painstaking, delicate work.  The hand had to be giving him pain, and yet Shockwave had never given any indication.  Ratchet lifted it in both of his, stroking his thumbs through the wiring.  He could feel it warm and loosen to his touch.

From behind Ratchet came a sound he would not have believed Shockwave capable of making – a small, high hitch in his vents that was almost a whimper.

Well, doctors were notorious for having sensitive hands.  Why not scientists?

Still keeping hold of Shockwave’s hand, Ratchet turned to face him.  He realised that he was effectively pinned between Shockwave’s bulk and the console, his fans kicking on from the sheer heat of Shockwave’s frame, but it didn’t frighten him.  He kept massaging Shockwave’s hand, paying rapt attention to every twitch or easing of the wires, every low groan that Shockwave failed to stifle.

“You know,” Ratchet said huskily, “neglecting routine maintenance isn’t very logical.”

“My hand functions within normal parameters.”  Was it Ratchet’s imagination, or was Shockwave’s level voice a little more staticky than usual?  “And it is the one part on which I cannot perform self-maintenance.  I – I did not trust Knock Out to…”  Ratchet’s thumb hit a particularly responsive patch of wires, and Shockwave seemed to forget the end of the sentence, shuttering his optic and sighing.

“Understandable.  But… perhaps I could…?”  Almost reverently, Ratchet lifted Shockwave’s hand to his mouth, brushing the barest kiss over the metal before flickering his tongue out into the wires.  Shockwave’s cannon arm snapped up, as if in automatic reflex, and wrapped around the medic’s waist, pulling him close.

“ _Please_ ,” he breathed.  “I – I would greatly appreciate your – assistance in this matter, Doctor.”

“Ratchet,” Ratchet told him gently, just before he flashed a wicked smile and sucked Shockwave’s thumb into his mouth.


End file.
